


Snowflower

by cyberflamingo



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Romance, Snow Queen Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29015946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyberflamingo/pseuds/cyberflamingo
Summary: Killua has wandered the frozen tundra alone for as long as he can remember.And then, one day, someone starts to wander it with him.-A modern retelling of The Snow Queen.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 30
Kudos: 86





	Snowflower

**Author's Note:**

> So this plot bunny has been dancing around my head for literally EVER, and I finally found a good time to write this when the other fic that I'm currently working was thwarted by writer's block. I've done a few new things with this fic that I'm pretty proud of—wrote a oneshot, used present tense, and a different *voice*—so I hope it came out alright!
> 
> The Frozen soundtrack may or may not have played on repeat during the entire process of writing this. _(:3」∠)_

The first time Killua wakes up, the world is white. It’s so bright that it hurts his eyes—the sky is overcast and the surroundings are covered in snow. He understands that the earth _should_ be cold, but there’s a blinding numbness that prevents him from feeling anything. He doesn’t know where he is, or why he’s there.

The tundra stretches far as the eye can see. Nothing is alive. The trees have long since petrified, the grass dead beneath the layers of white. Snowflakes fall infinitely from the sky. Killua wonders if he’s the only thing breathing as a puff of air escapes his lips. It quickly freezes too.

He gets up and starts walking.

It’s quiet. There’s the crunch beneath his feet, the crackle of ice—but aside from that, everything lies still.

Then, he hears a trilling melody, a bright sound within the silence. He follows the sound to its source and it doesn’t take long for him to find it. A bird sits perched on a frozen branch, feet stuck to its surface. It’s wings beat uselessly against the air as it strains for freedom.

“Let me help you,” Killua says, and he reaches out.

The moment his fingertips make contact, the bird stops singing. The red of its feathers dulls to grey, then to ice. The thrumming beat under his touch grows still. The bird stays frozen to the branch and doesn’t move again.

The first time Killua wakes up, he chances upon life, and realizes what his purpose in the world is.

* * *

The first time Killua meets a human, he’s near the border. By now, he’s figured out there’s an invisible line around his world that he can’t cross. Once the white turns to green, once the grey turns to blue, there’s a force which prevents him from going any further.

He knows the living is on that side. He can hear their voices and their laughter.

The people on the other side are objectively good. They joke around, they play, and they share their belongings when others are having a hard time. Killua likes watching their warm world from his cold one, even though something sad settles in his chest when he does so.

He’s doing it again—watching from the comfort of his icy forest—when someone addresses him.

“...Do you want to play?” a quiet voice asks.

Killua turns around and sees someone else hiding behind a tree, though on the green side rather than his white one. It’s a child. Her dark hair is plaited down her back.

“We’re playing hide and seek,” she says, bringing a finger to her lips. “So you have to stay _very_ quiet.”

Killua doesn’t tell her that he’s never played before. He doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t know what the game is. Instead, he smiles and says, “Sure, I’d love to.”

It’s the first time he’s ever said anything to another person.

He sits on the snow and waits.

Eventually, a group of children stumbles upon their hiding spot. They laugh as they help the girl up off the ground. “We found you! You’re the last one!”

“It’s not just me!” she insists, gesturing for Killua to come out, “Someone else is hiding here too!”

“Who’s that? I thought we found everyone else,” one of the boys says.

Killua doesn’t want them to think the girl is a liar, so he steps out from behind his tree. He watches as the smiles fade and are replaced with wide eyes and trembling limbs. The children shrink away from him. They’re scared.

“It’s the Snow Prince,” one of them finally says, voice shaking, “The stories were true.”

“He’ll steal your heart, then your sight, then _you_ ,” says another, “He’ll take you to his palace of ice where you’ll remain a statue forever.”

“He’s a monster.”

The little girl, who was looking at Killua with such kindness just moments before, now looks at him in fear. The children turn around, run, and they don’t look back.

Killua’s alone again.

There aren’t even footprints in the snow to remember the interaction by.

The first time Killua meets a human, he’s called a monster, and understands that their worlds are separated for a reason.

* * *

The first time Killua meets Gon Freecs, Killua is pacing the tundra several leagues away from the southern border. It’s the chattering teeth that gets his attention—they clack too loudly in the silence to be ignored. Killua finds the human child swaddled in threadbare blankets near the trunk of a tree. He’s small, asleep, and clearly abandoned.

The wind has long covered up the tracks of who left him there.

Killua frowns. He can’t wrap his head around why someone would leave a child in the world of snow. It’s a death sentence. Humans aren’t made to be exposed to the winter elements with such little clothing.

But maybe that’s it, he thinks. They’re hoping the child will die. That’s why Killua is there, after all.

The child is huddled into a little ball. He’s shivering.

Killua bends down. He reaches out. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I won’t make you suffer.”

He’ll end it quickly. After he’s touched him, he’ll bury him beneath the snow and lay a wreath across his grave. He'll say a prayer for the life that’s ended by his hands, as he always does.

His heart hurts.

His fingers touch the boy’s cheek, but something unusual happens—Killua’s frosty skin begins to _melt_. A sensation cuts through the numbness and his nerves tingle. It’s like he’s being touched by the sun. He wrenches his hand away—quickly, his mind tells him, the boy is dangerous—and stumbles backwards. When Killua looks at the child again, he’s shocked to find that his cheeks are still pink.

He’s still alive.

Killua breathes softly through his nose. Well, what happens now?

He ends up carrying the boy in his arms back to his home. He lights a fire and keeps his distance, carefully observing as his young visitor wakes up under the warmth.

His eyes find Killua in the darkness.

“Hello,” the boy says.

“You shouldn’t be here,” says Killua.

“I know,” the boy says.

“Where is your family?”

“No idea.”

“Did they leave you here?”

“I don’t know.” The boy’s stomach rumbles. “I’m hungry.”

“There’s nothing alive here,” says Killua. “I can’t feed you.”

The boy grins. “It’s okay.”

Killua thinks that it’s really not. But there’s a couple that lives a day’s walk away, who are far enough from where Killua found the boy to be unaffiliated with whoever abandoned him. Maybe they’ll take pity on him and take him in.

“Do you want to sit next to the fire too?” the boy asks.

Killua shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Not particularly.”

“Is it because you’re the Snow Prince?”

Killua gives him a wry smile. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Probably.”

The boy is silent for a moment before speaking. “The village leader says the Snow Prince takes away bad boys and girls and makes them into statues,” he says, “But I don’t see any statues here. And you don’t seem as mean as they say you are. Actually, you seem pretty nice.” He looks at Killua, golden eyes flickering like the fire by his feet. “Are you nice?”

“I don’t really know,” Killua confesses. “I don’t think I’ve done anything bad, and I don’t think I’ve done anything good. I’m just...here.”

“Well, I think you’re nice,” the boy declares.

“Why’s that? Aren’t you afraid of me?”

“Why would I be afraid of someone who saved my life?”

Killua doesn’t have an answer for that.

The next day, he takes the boy to the couple at the western border. The couple consists of a tall, lanky woodsman, and smaller, poised writer. The two men live in a small log house, and although they bicker (Killua has heard their arguments far too many times), he knows they care deeply for each other. They wouldn’t leave such a young boy alone.

He sees the smoke rise from the chimney. They’re at home. The boy stands at his side, waiting for an instruction. Killua just gives him a push at his back, taking utmost care not to touch his skin, and says “go.”

The boy stumbles forward, out of the white of Killua’s world and into the world of the living. Killua watches from the morning shadows as the boy knocks twice on the door and it opens. There’s a murmur that he can’t quite catch, and then the boy is being ushered into the cabin.

Killua doesn’t stay, so he doesn’t see the boy jump right back outside, running to where he has last seen Killua, to try to say goodbye and thank you. Killua misses it all as he returns to his icy kingdom. It's the place where he belongs. The boy has his new home and Killua has the snow.

But there’s something different that lingers on the skin of his fingertips, the memory of a touch. Even under his permafrost coating, Killua feels it.

The first time Killua meets Gon Freecs, he learns about the concept of warmth.

* * *

The second time Killua meets Gon Freecs, Gon is older. Killua is trekking through the eternal winter in search of the living, in search of pain only he can alleviate. The graves under the snow have grown only slightly. He hopes they won’t grow any more.

“Don’t go!” he hears someone cry. The sound is anguished, desperate, pleading. “He’ll kill you!”

“No he won’t,” another voice says, deeper and kinder. “He wouldn’t do that sort of thing.”

“Gon, you don’t understand—nothing lives beyond the border! The moment you leave, you’ll be at his mercy. The Kingdom of Ice is ruthless, there’s only snow and cold—no one ever goes out there and comes back alive.”

“I did.”

“Gon, please—”

“He’s not a monster. No matter what everyone else says, he’s not. I know. I’ve met him. I’ll see you later, Aunt Mito.”

And then, Killua is watching a young man, swaddled up in furs instead of a threadbare blanket, enter his world. He steps confidently onto the snow, voluntarily leaving behind the spring grass and the sun.

It’s the boy, Killua realizes. He’s grown. He’s taller. And he’s looking for Killua.

Killua stays behind the trees, footsteps silent as he follows the young man a few paces away. The man doesn’t seem apprehensive of the winter world. He’s grinning brightly, sticking out his tongue once in a while to catch the falling snowflakes. He’s dressed better than the last time they met. He also looks healthier. Stronger.

They couldn’t be more different, Killua thinks. While the other man has taken all the world’s colors for himself—his skin is brown from the sun, his hair dark, eyes golden like fire—Killua is the opposite. The colors refuse to stay, leaving his skin and hair white as the world he wanders.

“You can come out now,” the man calls out. “I can hear you.”

Killua is startled, but quickly regains his composure. He reveals himself. “I heard you were looking for me,” he says. “Why?”

The man shoots him a smile. He walks over to Killua so that they’re standing face to face. “I wanted to see you again,” he says. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you, ever since we met. You’ve even visited me in my dreams.”

Killua shakes his head. It’s a bad idea to get involved. “You shouldn’t have come here. Your companion was right. Nothing lives in my world. You won’t survive.”

“I brought provisions,” the man says cheerfully. “And if I need more food, I’ll just head back and stock up again.”

Killua bites his lip.

“Hey,” the man says, “I just want to keep you company for a bit. You probably haven’t talked to anyone in a while, right?”

“...I haven’t.”

“Well then, that works out! I’m Gon, by the way. I know you’re the Snow Prince, but do you go by anything else? Another name, perhaps?”

Killua thinks back to his first memory.

“My name is Killua,” he says, the word rolling off his tongue like water.

“It’s a pleasure, Killua!” Gon laughs, reaching for his hand. Killua shakes it, grateful that he’s chosen to wear gloves that day. He hasn’t forgotten about the skin-to-skin contact.

The second time Killua meets Gon, he gains a companion.

* * *

Gon leaves him after a month.

“One of the grandmas in the village is sick,” he says by the fire. “I have to go back.”

“Okay,” says Killua.

Gon looks at him. “Will I see you again?”

Killua leans back. He lets his eyes focus on the snowflakes drifting slowly to the earth. “I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “I don’t know where I’ll be. My domain is vast. If you come looking for me like you did before, you could get lost. You could die. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

Gon sullenly stokes the fire. “I want to go look for you though,” he says stubbornly.

“I know you do. But you shouldn’t. You’ve done enough for me as it is. I...was really happy to have someone with me for so long. I’ve never had that before,” Killua replies.

“Happiness, or a friend?”

Killua thinks about it for a second before he answers him. “Both.”

* * *

The third time Killua meets Gon Freecs, Gon looks like he’s finally Killua’s age. Even though Killua has occasionally dropped by the western border on the off-chance he can catch a glimpse of Gon, he hasn’t expected to see him ever again. But the man who stumbles into his home is undoubtedly the same one who stayed by his side for a month. He’s even taller now. His dark hair is swept back and he’s gained a new scar on his cheek. His eyes are still the same.

“I’ve found you again,” Gon says.

Killua tries not to stare. Something’s different. “You shouldn’t have come back,” he says quietly.

“You keep saying things like that,” Gon says, “But I don’t think you really mean them.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t. I can tell.” He stares at Killua, searching for answers Killua knows he can’t give him. “Why do you push me away, Killua?”

Killua answers carefully. “Your village needs you. You have a role and a life there. There’s nothing for you here. You should go.”

“Do you not want me here?”

Killua doesn’t answer him. He doesn’t want to bind him down.

“Do you not want me here?” Gon repeats, stepping closer. He reaches for Killua’s hand, but Killua pulls back just in time, hurriedly pulling gloves over his fingertips. Gon looks hurt. “You don’t even want to touch me?”

Killua’s heart is thudding in his chest, the only thing in the world that reminds him that he’s alive. “It’s not...that,” he says.

“Then what is it?”

Killua thinks how best to word it. He thinks of when he first met Gon, how the ice had melted off of him, how the frost disappeared because of Gon’s warmth. Killua knows deep down if he indulges in it, it will be the means of his own undoing.

“I want to touch you,” he says, “But it's dangerous for me. Until I understand why I react the way I do, the gloves stay on.”

Gon, thankfully, doesn’t press further. “Okay then. That’s fine. In exchange, please let me stay.” His tone leaves no room for argument, so Killua agrees.

He lets him stay.

* * *

Gon makes himself right at home. He acts as though he’s never left. He’s friendly with Killua, like the way they used to be—he touches his numb shoulders, he grabs his gloved hand, he talks with an animated, lively voice. Killua wanders the previously-lonely world and Gon follows. The blanket of white glitters with cold and pristine delicacy, but with Gon by his side, the snow quickly becomes littered with their footprints, little indentations that show they’ve been there, that they’re together.

Gon doesn’t complain about the lack of things to do. He appears content to spend his days talking and laughing and living.

Killua learns more about him. He learns that Gon is kind when he says a prayer alongside Killua when they bury the animals. He learns that Gon is curious when he places a bare palm against the trees’ icy bark when they walk through the forests. He learns that Gon is obsinantly stubborn as he pleads for Killua to sit next to the fire so they can chat over dinner. Killua still can’t eat or feel the heat, but he watches the flames flicker brightly, Gon chewing on preserved fruits and vegetables, a soft smile on his lips.

Gon worms his way into Killua’s heart and becomes another reason to prove to Killua that he’s alive. Killua finds his heart becoming an erratic staccato, his eyes growing mesmerized, his hands twitching under his gloves, itching to touch. He still doesn’t know why Gon insists on staying with him when no other humans dare to, he doesn’t understand it at all—but he’s grateful, he’s happy about it—happy that out of all the living things in the world, Gon is the only one who hasn’t left him.

At night, before they go to sleep, Gon tells him stories. He recounts fairy tales from the village, myths humans weave to explain the strangeness of the elements and miracles.

“You’re in them, you know?” he says. “The Snow Prince.”

“I know,” Killua says, rolling his eyes, “They paint me to be quite the villain.”

Gon laughs. “That’s not true! Those are the ones they tell the children at night to make them go to sleep. But your real story is different. I read about it in a book once. It’s sad, and beautiful.”

Killua sits up.

“They say you were born from a magic mirror,” Gon says. “It was a mirror created by the angels to reflect the beauty and good of the world. But while the angels were away, evil snuck into their workshop and tainted it so that it reflected the darkness in people’s hearts instead.

“When the angels picked up the mirror again, their hearts wavered. They dropped it and it shattered into thousands of pieces. They sent a human girl to search for the fragments because only her heart was pure enough to withstand the darkness—but when winter came, she got sick, and couldn’t find the last one.

“Her brother took on her duty. He found the mirror shard for her. But by that time it was too late—his sister had gone through too much, and she passed away. The angels, tainted by the mirror, felt no remorse at her death.

“The brother swore vengeance, and took the fragment into his soul. He was transformed into the very winter that took his sister’s life.”

“That _is_ sad,” Killua says.

Gon smiles. “But there’s a happy ending.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“So what happens? What’s the happy ending?”

“I’ll tell you if you touch me without your gloves,” says Gon.

Killua considers it. It will be brief, he tells himself. He’ll only touch Gon for a second, not enough to cause himself any damage.

He takes off a glove.

Gon looks at him, expression unreadable. “Really?” he asks, voice somehow choking, “Just like that?”

“It’s only for a moment,” Killua replies. “But you have to tell me the happy ending.”

“Okay,” Gon breathes, and then he’s reaching for Killua and Killua isn’t pulling away, not this time—

The instant their hands touch, Killua knows he’s been right all along. It will be the death of him. Gon’s hold is fire against his skin, the protective layer of frost is incinerated into silver mist, and Gon clasps their hands together, laces their fingers like the strings of his boots, and Killua wonders if this is what holding the sun feels like. Gon’s fingers dance across his flesh—they dazzle, they light his soul ablaze, and the numbness is wiped clean away.

Gon brings Killua’s wrist up to his lips. He kisses the pulse there.

Killua doesn’t know how it's possible for the single action to ignite the rest of him on fire too—it’s not just his wrist now, but also his face, his neck, his heart—it’s not possible, he’s burning, he’s _burning—_

Gon pushes Killua’s sleeve back. His lips trail upwards with each newly exposed area, kissing Killua like he’s as delicate as the freshly fallen snow. Only seconds pass, Killua is aware of that, yet somehow the moment stretches to eternity.

Gon stops halfway. He’s out of breath as he stares at the white skin, spots tinged with pink where his lips have touched. Killua’s knees are seconds away from buckling beneath him.

And then, Gon’s gaze flickers upwards, and Killua can’t find the courage to look elsewhere. He’s utterly spellbound by this man, he’s completely smitten—he’s whisked into golden eyes and a golden heart, his mind goes blank, he can’t remember what was promised to get to this position in the first place, but he finds he doesn’t care.

Gon’s grip on Killua’s wrist is hot. It hurts. Killua never wants him to stop touching him.

“The happy ending,” Gon whispers, “Is that when the Snow Prince is found by someone who loves him, who empathizes with him, who sees him for who he really is—the love between them melts away the tainted mirror shard, and the icy tundra fades into spring.”

Yes, Killua thinks, the story _is_ beautiful.

The third time Killua meets Gon Freecs, he falls in love.

* * *

“Killua,” Gon says, “I think we should try again today.”

Killua throws a snowball at him. “You’ve tried three times already,” he says.

“Yes, and each time you avoid me.”

“It’s because it’s _embarrassing_.”

Gon waggles his eyebrows. “That’s not what you said when I kissed your wrist last week,” he says. Killua’s retort is another well-aimed snowball.

“You caught me off-guard,” he grumbles. “And who knows if your plan will work, anyways?”

“Don’t you want to go to the other side? With me?”

“Of course I do. You know that I do.”

“And you love me, don’t you?”

Killua kicks a pile of snow into the air. It’s like kicking dust—the specks of snow glitter like powdered diamonds. “Yes,” he says quietly, “I do.”

Gon kisses his gloved hand. “I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want, Killua. If you really don’t want to try, we don’t have to.”

Killua does want to. Ever since Gon told him the story he’s been fantasizing about it—thinking about stepping into the green world beyond the border, thinking about touching something living without it dying, thinking about sitting near a fire and feeling heat alongside the flames.

So Killua digs deep into his well of courage. He reaches as far down as he can and gathers together as much willpower as he can muster.

“I want to try,” he says.

* * *

The first time Killua kisses Gon Freecs, he finds he can’t stop.

It’s Gon who makes the first move—they’re just sitting together by the fire when he leans forwards, eyes fluttering shut, and Killua freezes like the trees he’s so familiar with—he’s rooted to the spot, immobile. He’s afraid of messing it up.

But Gon’s lips, like his hands, are scorching hot against Killua’s mouth. He kisses him gently with a soft press, tentative, trying.

“Is this okay?” Gon asks, voice no more than a whisper.

Killua nods. He breathes his answer back. “Yes.”

Gon kisses him again. And again. And again. And after the sixteenth one—Killua knows because he’s been counting—Killua kisses him back, fingers curling against the blanket draped across their laps.

His lips move awkwardly against Gon’s. He thinks that he’s probably bad at it, that Gon won’t like what he’s doing—but Gon doesn’t seem to mind, rather, he smiles against Killua’s mouth, moves one hand up to cup his cheek, and brings them closer together.

They kiss until they both run out of breath. Liquid stars are rushing through Killua’s veins. The numbness is disappearing, replaced with sparks and the heat of Gon’s touch. Killua wonders if there’s any frost on him left—it’s probably all gone, evaporated with how diligently Gon has coaxed each kiss from him.

“I love you, Killua,” says Gon, pressing their lips together again, “I love you so much. I can’t put it into words. You’re perfect. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, both in body and in soul. I can’t imagine falling in love with anyone else.”

Killua feels pressure behind his eyelids. His vision gets blurry. Something wet and cold leaks from the corners of his eyes and drips down his face. Miraculously, it doesn’t freeze.

He doesn’t know what to say, because his “I love you” will sound pathetic compared to Gon’s confession. So he tries his best to convey his feelings by wrapping his arms around Gon’s neck and kissing him as hard as he can. Killua threads his hands in his dark hair. Gon makes a little noise in his throat that sounds like happiness.

And as they kiss, the coldness continues to run down Killua’s face. It takes a shard of glass, as small as a grain of sand, with it—and the mirror fragment leaves Killua’s soul, unable to live in a body so warm and filled with love. It turns into dust and disappears forever.

Outside, the ice thaws and grass sprouts underneath the white. The snowflakes stop falling. The grey clouds part to reveal a blue sky. Colors seep into a monochrome world, dousing it in vibrancy and life.

The tundra is relieved that the eternal winter is over and welcomes spring with open arms.

The first time Killua kisses Gon Freecs, the birds start singing again and the world is no longer silent.

* * *

Killua acclimates easily to the human world. He finds solace in the warmth in his body, in the beating of his heart. It turns out that with the mirror shard gone, people don’t see him as the Snow Prince anymore—but rather as a human, just like them.

He supposes that’s who he’s always been.

Sometimes, in the dark of the night which is now illuminated by lamp posts rather than the winter stars, Killua thinks of the sister he’s lost and wonders if her soul is at peace. Gon assures him with a sleepy sigh that she is, because with a brother like Killua, surely she would have been reborn as an angel after death.

Killua hopes that it's true. He hopes his sister is still out there, trying her best to remove the evil in the world. After all, a heart resistant to darkness must love even more selflessly, and from the sounds of Gon’s story, she was the most selfless of all. The thought helps him sleep easier at night.

“But I wonder why the angels didn’t choose you,” Killua says quietly.

“Choose me for what?” mumbles Gon, half asleep.

“To find the mirror shards.”

“Oh, I’m not that good. My heart wouldn’t have been able to take it.”

“I don’t think that’s true at all.”

“Oh, but it is. I’m actually rather selfish,” Gon says, rolling over to look at Killua.

Killua admires his face under the moonlight. “How so?” he muses. “I don’t think you could be selfish if you tried.”

“I’m being selfish right now,” Gon says, “By keeping you here with me, all to myself.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Of course it does. I’d fight heaven and hell for you, Killua.”

Killua wonders if his face is also like a lamp post in the night, because it's radiating more heat than he has ever thought possible.

“Sometimes I wonder how you went from an unassuming child to...this,” he says.

“I know exactly how it happened. Imagine,” Gon hums, “A man like me, charming the Snow Prince he’s been dreaming about since he was a child. Getting the prince to fall in love with him. Making a home together. With how wonderful you are, I was lucky no one else got to you first.”

“You’re embarrassing,” Killua says, but there’s no bite to his words.

Gon links their hands together. “Say...speaking of that—I guess while we’re on the topic of selfishness, now is as best of a time as any." Killua wonders why he looks so nervous. "When the next spring season comes, when the constellations change in the sky—would you want to be mine?”

“I’m already yours, Gon.”

“No—I know that, but like...like my fathers. Like Leorio and Kurapika. They each have the rings, you know, and they’re together—they’ve made, you know, the promise. We could—I could—” Gon stutters, and Killua laughs.

“Alright,” he agrees, kissing Gon softly, “When the next spring comes, let’s get married.”

Gon beams.

* * *

The first time Killua goes back to the place where the snow used to be, crossing the border in the other direction, Gon is by his side. They exchange rings made from wood from the forest. They dip their hands in the waterfalls, and wish health and well-being upon one another. Gon lays a wreath of flowers on Killua’s head and kisses him, bright and eager. Killua laughs.

They eat freshly baked bread and pick berries from the bushes. They sit down on the grass, fingers intertwined, talking about anything and everything. The sun's rays welcome them.

Gon wonders out loud and asks if the world has become so much more beautiful to him because Killua is in it.

Killua internally wonders the same thing, but about Gon. 

Because although winter has just passed, he can’t remember what it feels like to be cold. He can’t remember what it feels like to be lonely, to walk in a never-ending frost. He doesn’t remember any of it because the happiness in his heart has long since burned those memories away—and it shows, unconcealed, on his face. To any onlookers, Killua looks more like a prince of spring rather than a prince of snow—he glows like the flames of life. He’s surrounded by greenery and blossoms and the mountain air and blends seamlessly into the colored world.

When Killua marries Gon, he sheds his old name and gains a new one. And up above, a single daytime star twinkles at them from the sky, blessing them with good fortune and a love that lasts for as long as they traverse the earth.

And then, the legend of the Snow Prince becomes just that—a legend.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading this little nugget that I churned out in two days because I couldn't stop thinking of Killua dressed up with a white cape and snow crystals in his hair huhuhuhuhuhu


End file.
